Blank Pages
by Reikaku Pyro
Summary: AU. CONTAINS ORIGINAL CHARACTERS. [ Larxenecentric ] What happened before she became a member of the Organization? What could make someone give up their heart so freely?


_Author's Notes: It's been along time since I wrote fanfiction at all, and I've never even attempted to write Kingdom Hearts stuff before. So this is just a little experiment._

_Organization XIII fascinates me a little more than it should, and Larxene's just by far my favorite. Since she gets so little love in the actual series, I kinda wanted to explore her character further, and just thought of what could have made her lose her heart and become a Nobody. And yes, I'm aware that this is not an original question. However I still just got this lovely plot bunny and simply had to write it out._

_Really, I think the only thing I need to say for it is that the first section is Larxene!monologue, and the rest is story, but it's not really hard to figure that out. Also, her "other" name is Anrele (I imagine pronounced "ahn-RE-ll", but yeah. Whatever). _

_  
This is just the first part; hopefully more will come. I'd really like to finish something for once XD Please feel free to review/critique. I'd appreciate any feedback offered. Thanks! And I hope you enjoy!  
_

* * *

White. I've always hated the color white. Its purity, always so pristine if cared for right. 

Nothing should ever be that perfect. Nothing deserves to be so clean.

Whoever colored this castle needs a reality check. I can't wait to get the walls here dirty.

Even as I walk, sliding my black soled boots over the tile they don't make a mark. It irritates me. No matter what I try I can't seem to sully this picture perfect white chapel.

It'll be good to take my frustration out on that little brat. I'm anxious already.

I hated this place the moment I set foot inside it. The moment I was brought here. Its perfection annoyed me from the very beginning. So blindingly clean. It's like it mocked me, and I for one hate being mocked.

Hate is too strong of a word. Hate would mean I felt. I don't feel. I know that. No one in this castle of white does.

But sometimes it sure seems like it.

I'm digging my heels into the floor as I walk the hallway towards the huge door at the end. My cure is on the other side of that door. The smirk on my lips has a life of its own. I'm almost done. Soon this will be over. Everything that happened before won't matter anymore. My slate will be clean.

Pure.

White.

* * *

"Anrele?" 

_Who's calling me?_ She thought in her dream. All around her she saw rain, and the dim lights of buildings through drenched glass, distorted and flickering. A flash of lightning. No sound.

"Anrele! You're going to be late!"

Suddenly the street was gone, and all she saw was a strange white ceiling above her. A ceiling she'd seen before. A ceiling she knew too well.

She heard a heavy sigh from the other side of the room. "Well it's about time, you lazy girl," the voice said. "I was just about to throw cold water in your face."

There was a sudden pain in her forehead, and she unwrapped her hand from the sheets to press it to her warm face. The morning sun lay across her bed, warming her even more.

A girl stormed over, an irritated pout on her otherwise gentle face. "I swear, Anrele. You're supposed to be the _older_ sister! Some role model you are!" she said with a snort. Reaching down, she pulled the sheets away. The air was cold around her, and she curled up with an indignant groan.

"You're such a little brat," she muttered.

"Get up and get dressed. Dad won't let me walk to school alone you know. And you have work at the shop!" the other girl said before storming out of the room defiantly.

After a moment, Anrele lifted herself up, sitting in the warm sunshine. She brushed the hair from her face, scratching behind her ear as she yawned and stretched. She never was a morning person.

Stepping out of the bed, she took her sweet time getting to the bathroom, running her fingers along the chipped wall paint. This house was lived in. She loved it.

The bathroom was in disarray, as usual. No one here really liked cleaning much. They got by though.

Looking up, she saw her reflection in the mirror. Her blonde hair was more disheveled than usual. Washing her hair right before bed and not drying it was a terrible idea.

Then something caught her attention. In the corner of her eye, a trail of water curved around her gentle cheek. It had stared to dry. It must have been during the dream. For a moment, she stared at that mirror image. Bright blue eyes stared right back at her, just as confused as she was. She would have stood there for hours, frozen in this staring contest.

"Anrele! If you aren't ready in 5 minutes I'm leaving and Dad will kill you!"

She blinked. She just lost the contest.

* * *

The street was busy as it always was, even this early. The sun peaked over the buildings that lined the stone road. Anrele smiled. She hated mornings, but she liked how they looked. People were always smiling at this time. 

"I'm getting sick of having to drag you out of bed every morning, Anrele. I'm not Mom," Anrele's walking partner said. "You should do it yourself." She wasn't smiling.

"Would you calm down, Emile?" Anrele replied with a wistful smile. Emile was her little sister, and she loved her. But the girl did not know how to enjoy her life at all. She didn't take pleasure in the small things, like sleeping in or enjoying the sunshine. It was obvious just from the sight of Emile that she was all work and no play. Her hair was long, in a mousy brown that washed out her light colored skin. If she didn't keep it tied back in that ugly ponytail all the time, it would be full and frame her soft, gentle face. Her clothes were stiff, pressed with too much starch. There was never so much as a smudge on her pristine white shirt or her socks that never seemed to fall.

Something about that irritated Anrele.

"Being five seconds late won't kill you," she said, nodding to a passerby that had tilted his hat at the girls. People were so friendly.

"Unlike _you_, I actually care about my school work," Emile shot back, her tone a bit too condescending.

Not that it wasn't true.

"You're the worst 16-year old I've ever seen, Emile," Anrele smiled back, mischievously ruffling the young girl's hair, much to her horror and dismay. "Aren't you supposed to be worrying about make-up or boys?" she teased.

Emile's face turned white except for the streak of red across her nose and cheeks. "How am I supposed to worry about boys when they all stumble over themselves just to see you drop me off?" she said, clearly upset for having to even MENTION boys at all.

Surprised, Anrele laughed into her hand. She'd heard this argument before. Emile had even brought her love notes from the boys at the school. Well. Brought isn't the word. More like tossed them to her at the dinner table before storming up to her room.

It wasn't her fault. She was just a pretty girl in a small town. A pretty girl with blonde hair that hovered just barely above her shoulders and bit of a tan. A pretty girl that got good marks in school, but preferred to be outside beating the boy's team at baseball.

If it weren't for the bright, unyielding blue in their eyes, you would never know they were related.

"Besides, school is for school. I'm there to work," Emile said, turning her eyes back to the street.

"You know," Anrele said, brushing the hair from her face with a smirk. "It's people like you that made me hate school."

Emile smirked back, just as cheekily. "Funny. I was about to say the same to you."

* * *

The walk from Emile's school to the family's flower shop was only two blocks away. A five minute walk at the most. Anrele usually took about twenty. There was never any reason to rush, was there? 

Mostly, she greeted the old folks with shops along the way. Anrele was well known in this town. It was so small it was hard not to be. She smiled with the grocer. She liked to stop in and say hello to the butcher; most thought he was scary, but he was a sweet man. She put up with the hairdresser that insisted Anrele should go on a date with her son. They would make such a nice couple.

Anrele went to school with him. All the money in the world wouldn't be enough for her to go out with the guy.

When she got to the shop, it was always too soon.

* * *

"You're late," was her greeting. 

"You say that every day. So really I'm right on time," Anrele responded, rounding the counter and ducking under the hanging flower pots, giving her father's tired and pale cheek a peck. "Good morning, Dad."

"Hmph," the old man snorted back, but with a weary smile. The sunlight bounced of the rims of his glasses that sat on the edge of his nose. He wasn't really that old; the graying had only just started, and the wrinkles on his face were simply from smiling.

"It'd be better if you got here on time," he said, making his wrinkle lines worse.

"And ruin your morning routine? I wouldn't dare," Anrele gasped, pretending to be appalled. "Perish the thought."

"Good point. You show up on time and my heart might not be able to take the shock. You could kill your old man," he replied, rolling his eyes; the same color as his daughters.

Anrele smiled widely. "Can't have that."

"I suppose not. Now get in the back. There's a surprise for you," her dad said, his voice secretive and knowing. "I think you'll like it."

* * *

This was why having creative parents sucked. They always had new ways of punishing their children. 

Anrele had been expecting something exciting, something new. Something that she'd never seen before that would just make her day.

In front of her was a group of huge, monstrous porcelain flower pots with addresses taped to them.

Deliveries. The kid that usually did it was sick apparently. Now the job was left to her.

"That's what you get for being late," she heard her father call from the front of the shop. Anrele clenched her fists and glared at the door. He'd pay for this.

"By the way, the cart is broken."

Oh. He'd pay _dearly._

* * *

Pots are tricky things, oddly enough. They look so heavy at first; so daunting and immobile. But the first one you pick up seems almost light. This job won't be so bad. 

Then you carry seven, and your arms are about to fall off. Tricky things those pots.

This was Anrele's eighth trip up the street towards the main part of town. She'd given up trying to smile at the people that greeted her. They all said the same thing.

"Gee, that sure looks heavy."

Yeah. No shit.

Anrele already knew that by the end of the day, she wouldn't be able to move her arms for a week. This had to be considered torture. Didn't it?

She began thinking of revenge schemes, to take her mind off the numbing of her fingers. At dinner, she could slip while carrying her father's meal or drink. "Oh, and that was the last of it we had!" she would say so innocently. It wouldn't be the first time.

Before she could plot further though, a rowdy group of children (clearly skipping school) came down the street, furiously peddling their bikes at top speed. Anrele couldn't see them of course, due to the large pot in her hands, but she heard their manic laughter as they zoomed pass. It caught her off guard, and suddenly her balance was gone, the heavy pot swaying from side to side as she tried to stay standing. But it was futile; it was just too heavy for her, and she was falling back. This pot was about to land on her, and with enough force that it just might…

_Death by pot. That would show Dad, _she thought morbidly.

Suddenly she felt the pot lighten, as though it were just floating above her hands. Now she had the room to steady herself. Looking down at the street, she realized just how close she was to…

No point in thinking about that.

Looking at the pot, she saw another pair of hands. Large hands, one of which was covering one of her own, giving it warmth and stability.

Cautiously, she leaned over, peering around the side of the pot to catch a glimpse of the owner of these hands. Her mussed hair clouded her vision a bit, but she could still see the face of a tall, dark haired man smiling kindly back at her. The black of his hair would have completely covered one of his eyes, but they were such a startling green that she could see the color even through the curtain of his bangs. They were gazing at her, those emeralds.

She just blinked back, unable to speak.

"That was a close one," he said, breaking the silence. His voice was low and smooth, like a voice you heard from telemarketers over the phone. If they have a nice voice, you assume they look nice, so you're more likely to buy something.

Anrele hung up on them as soon as they said hello.

"Kids should be more careful," he continued, smile never breaking.

Anrele blinked another moment, then brought herself out of her daze. "Y-yeah. But it was just an accident, and…no one got hurt," she said. "…Thanks to you." She even managed a little smile. "Thank you."

"What kind of man would I be if I sat by and watched a lovely girl like you get squashed by a flower pot?" he said naturally. That was a good way of putting it.

Anrele liked this guy already.

"A pretty sick one, I'd say," she replied, her weak smile twisting into an amused smirk as she arched a brow. She made no attempt to move her hand.

He didn't laugh, only returned her smirk. His face was _made_ for smirking. "You like to get to the point, don't you?" he said. "I like that." His hand got tighter over hers.

Anrele had been in situations like this before. This had to be the first time she felt herself blush.

"Where are you taking this?" the man asked, actually lifting the pot away from her completely. Anrele blinked, and was about to protest, but he cut her off. "What other excuse would I have to talk with you more? This works out for both of us."

"…" she paused a minute, then crossed her arms. "Gee. You're a smooth talker, aren't you?" she smirked. "Somehow I doubt I'm the first to hear those words from you."

This made him laugh a bit, in a low chuckle. "Like I said, right to the point."

"What's the point of beating around the bush?"

"My philosophy exactly." His smile made her knees weak.

* * *

His name was Shane, and he'd just moved to town a week ago. He'd come from the city that lay several miles to the west. He didn't like city life. He said it was too cold and sterile and impersonal. Nobody said hello to you on the street. Nobody smiled. 

"Nobody helps girls about to get squashed by flower pots," he said. Shane liked bringing that up.

Anrele liked it too.

She told him how her family owned a flower shop. How her father and she ran it. Shane smiled.

"That's what I'm talking about. You never see family owned business in the city. Everyone's too concerned with money and being at the top. I couldn't do it," he told her.

"What? You wouldn't sell your soul to make a buck?" she replied.

He looked back at her. "Souls are worth so much more than a buck."

Even after delivering the pot to its new owner, Shane walked back with her to the flower shop. He wanted to see it, he said. Anrele just gave him a skeptical smile, and then continued down the street.

* * *

"Alright, you sadistic old man. Those pots are delivered," Anrele called out when she opened the door to the shop. 

"Took you long enough," her father called from the back room. He walked out behind the counter just as Anrele and Shane reached it. Her father looked at the boy, as though sizing him up already. "Who's this?"

"My name's Shane, sir. It's nice to meet you," Shane said with a casual smile.

"Shane's one of the few people left that care when girls are forced to do obscene manual labor," Anrele replied, smugly smiling at her father.

He father looked appalled. "And I don't?"

"Clearly not. I almost died because of you."

"Not because of me. I've been here the whole time. Must've been your own clumsiness. Besides you wouldn't have had to do it if you weren't late this morning," he reminded her.

"Hmph," Anrele pouted, crossing her arms. She caught Shane smiling at her.

Apparently so did her father. "So Shane. Thanks for helping my daughter, but if there's nothing else she's got some more work to be doing," he said defensively. Anrele got her straightforwardness from him.

But Shane didn't even flinch. "Actually, buying some flowers might be a good idea. My apartment is pretty drab right now. Maybe I should get something to brighten it up till I get settled," he said calmly, looking around.

Before her father could respond, Anrele grinned, grabbed Shane's arm and pulled him to the side of the store. "I know exactly what you should get it," she said brightly, cutting off any objection her father might give.

She led him to a display near the front window. This was where they put all the plants that were at the peak of their lives, looking picture perfect. She pointed to a basket full of deep, indigo flowers.

"They're perfect for apartments; they don't need a lot of care, but they still look so perfect," she told him, bringing a few up for him to examine. He took them, and didn't seem completely enthralled. After smelling them, he looked back into her eyes.

"Are these your favorite flowers?" he asked.

She shook her head. "No. I thought you might like them, though."

He put them back in the basket. "Show me your favorite."

Anrele paused for a moment, then walked down the row to the end. The flower she brought back was a pure white at the edge of the petals that transitioned into a brilliant red in the center.

"I've always loved these," she said. "But they can be a pain to care for. If you don't do it just right, the colors come out wrong and the whole thing turns pink."

"But if you take care of them they come out like this?" he asked, caressing the petals.

"I don't know how much work you're willing to put in to take care of some flowers," Anrele replied, her voice getting softer.

"I'm not afraid of a little work," he said.

She was getting sick of this blushing business. "Why do I get the feeling you aren't talking about flowers anymore?" Anrele asked, barely able to bring her eyes to his.

He just smiled, and then walked past her to pick up a few more flowers from the basket. Her eyes followed, and she finally made herself walk to the front counter, though she was in a bit of a daze.

Shane came to the counter, still smiling as he placed the flowers down. "How much do I owe you for these?" he asked her father.

"…500 munny," her father replied. He didn't like the look on his daughter's face or this boy's smile. He didn't like it at all.

Shane put the money on the counter, and her father wrapped up the flowers. Anrele watched this like it was a show or something. She wasn't really there. None of this was happening in reality.

"Nice meeting you both," Shane said with a nod, and he walked out of the store. He was gone just as quickly as he popped into her world.

"Something not right about that boy," her father said as soon as the door closed.

Anrele didn't hear him. She was too busy running outside after Shane.

* * *

"Shane!" 

He was standing outside, leaning on the wall of the shop just outside of the view of the window. He was smirking.

"What took you so long?" was all he said.

Anrele blinked, then smirked back. She walked out of the window's view, standing in front of him. "Oh, was this part of your plan?" she asked playfully.

"You make me sound like such a lecher," he said.

"Hmm. Well for your information," Anrele said matter of factly. "I just wanted to thank you again. For earlier." This clarification was entirely necessary.

He didn't seem to buy it. "Is that all?"

"Unless you have something to say, yes," she taunted.

"You're gonna make this hard for me, aren't you?"

Anrele just shrugged, looking off to the sky. "I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about."

Shane just smirked back, his eyes bright with amusement. With a fluid motion, he took one of the flowers out of the bundle, holding it out to her. "I'd like to see you again, Anrele," he said. "Could I take you to lunch tomorrow?"

Anrele looked at the flower for a moment, then realized she should probably take it. Her hand gently took it, and she smiled. "Hopefully Dad won't freak out too much," she said.

"Dads should worry about their daughters," Shane said with a shrug. "It's natural. They hate anyone trying to take their little girls from them."

Anrele looked up from her present to Shane's eyes. "Is that what you're trying to do?" she asked.

He didn't answer. Not with words anyhow. He just smiled, and his hand touched her cheek. "I'll be here tomorrow," he told her softly. Then he turned and walked away, up the street.

Anrele stood for a minute, watching him leave. Her fingers twisted around the stem of the flower he'd given her, and she held it to her chest. No guy she'd ever met had that sort of attitude. A smooth talker, but it was more than that to her. There was just something about him…

Before she could think about it anymore, she noticed the hairdresser looking at her from the window of her salon. She looked pretty upset.

Anrele blinked back for a moment. Looking back at the flower, she lost control and laughed into her hand.

* * *

_Author's Notes: Alright that's part 1. Still working on the second, so um. Expect it semi-soon? Or don't. College is tough :P_


End file.
